


this whole damn city thinks it needs you, but not as much as i do

by angryelftwink



Series: although you never asked me to [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair hates Cullen's guts, Anora is queen, Dark Ritual glossed over due to trans f!Surana, M/M, Post-Dragon Age: Origins Quest - The Landsmeet, background f!Surana/Morrigan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21614821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryelftwink/pseuds/angryelftwink
Summary: A rose and an earring.
Relationships: Alistair/Zevran Arainai
Series: although you never asked me to [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596634
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	this whole damn city thinks it needs you, but not as much as i do

“They took me to capture a mage once.”

Alistair stretched his neck this way and that, gazing out into the early evening fog. His jaw tensed. When Alistair said _Arl Eamon_ , his jaw tensed. When you called him _Templar_ , his jaw tensed. Zevran didn’t even think he was aware of the tell.

“He was a couple years younger than me,” Alistair continued. “I was a trainee, pretty much only there to observe—and, well, I observed a lot more than the senior Templars with me. You know, little stuff like that he was panicking and begging us not to hurt him. That he was as surprised as us when the trees started sparking. And how he didn’t move to attack us—he turned to _run._ ”

Alistair leaned out on the balcony of Redcliffe Castle, not looking back to where Zevran stood against the wall.

“They almost killed him. I screamed out to stop them, and… I don’t know. That might have stopped them. I got disciplined for it, though. Don’t know what happened to the kid, but after seeing Kinloch—there was a Templar in there saying that because _some_ of the mages had turned to blood magic and were _enslaving the rest_ , they all deserved to die. They deserved to die for being _victims._ ” Alistair took a deep breath. “I should have done more. I shouldn’t have let them drag that boy to a Circle.”

“Ah, my friend.” Zevran’s hips crossed the balcony to lean at Alistair’s side. “Only you would tell a story of such heroism and think it cowardice.”

“I wasn’t the brave one. That boy was.” Alistair pursed his lips, then shook his head. “No. He was just—a frightened boy. Frightened of us. Of me.”

“Is there a reason you think of this now?” He studied Alistair’s face. Every subtle but undeniable tell the young man had, displaying tension, anxiety, and fear. Something was horribly wrong, and despite himself, Zevran—

He wanted to cradle Alistair’s face in his hand, and promise him everything would be ok.

And it would be. He’d make sure of that. For Alistair.

“I’m going to die,” Alistair said, lightly. “I knew I would. It goes with the whole Grey Warden thing, dying young. I… I wanted you to know why I’m all right with that. Maybe I needed to remind myself.”

“Because at least you are not a Templar,” Zevran murmured. He glanced at Alistair’s bright, burning, earnest eyes.

No fear. Not at the heart of him.

“I thought if anyone would understand, it would be you.” Alistair quirked a smile. “Right, Zevran Arainai?”

“Why are you going to die?” He stepped just a few inches closer, their hands almost touching on the balcony now.

He didn’t want Alistair to die. He didn’t—he couldn’t—not _Alistair._

“The only way to end the Blight is for a Grey Warden to die,” Alistair said. “So maybe it won’t be me. I don’t know. But I think I’d rather it be me than live with knowing I could have saved a life, and failed.”

“You’re right,” Zevran whispered, casting his eyes down, to their hands on the balcony and the shadowed courtyard below. “I understand perfectly.”

Alistair’s hand moved, brushing against Zevran’s. Zevran had to pull it back, suddenly glancing back up.

Alistair was smiling. “Why, Zevran Arainai, you’re blushing.”

“Certainly not.” He rubbed his hand on the outside of his thigh. “I do not _blush_.”

“To the tips of your ears.” Alistair grinned and stepped forward, again, closer. Zevran was off-balanced, needed to step away. Everything spiraled.

And Alistair pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek.

“There’s, uh, another reason I wanted to talk to you,” he murmured, backing away slightly.

If Zevran hadn’t been blushing before, he certainly was now. How could this catch him unprepared, flustered as a Chantry girl?

“Then talk,” he said, still unable to look Alistair in the eye. There had to be a way to regain control of this situation, but everything was Alistair, Alistair, Alistair.

“Er,” said Alistair. “Well, you see, I… didn’t think I’d get this far. Or rather, I thought you’d take it from here?”

“I’d take it from—” Zevran looked up to Alistair’s crimson face. “So. Not interested in dying a virgin?”

Alistair, somehow, went even redder. He stared down at his feet. “It’s not like—not _about_ —haven’t you noticed I’m in love with you?”

_Dread Wolf fuck me._

They both jolted back, Zevran staring up into the sky trying to avoid—to avoid—to _avoid_.

“Well, I am,” muttered Alistair. “I’ve been going through a voidsent crisis here, you know! And you—going around, being all… you! And you didn’t even have the decency to notice?”

“I was distracted!” He turned toward Alistair, arms spread wide. “I was trying to figure out why I was so fascinated by you, and how someone as kind and wonderful as you could even exist. I was trying as hard as I could not to care, Alistair. Nothing good can come of caring.”

Something good did come of it, because Alistair lunged forward and kissed him, shoved Zevran back into the balcony and _kissed him_. It was messy and awful, and Zevran grabbed Alistair’s hair to press the kiss _back_ , deeper and deeper and—

“I’m in love with you,” Alistair whispered. He stared at Zevran’s eyes for a moment before he moved, cradling Zevran’s head and pressing kisses into his hair. “I—I really am, Zev.”

Zevran said all he could think of to say. He was so out of his depth, halfway pinned to a balcony by _Alistair_ , more by tender gaze than his size. “Then… please don’t die.”

Alistair choked out a laugh. Now, now the hint of tears in his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll do my best.”

He slipped his hands to Alistair’s hips. “And by that,” he said, hoping that he wasn’t crying too, “you mean that you will not make the same mistake as with the mage boy.”

“There’s three of us,” Alistair said, running his hands through Zevran’s hair, “all doing our best to make sure the other two live. Come on. Let’s go inside, where it’s warm. I’ve got a gift for you.”

“A gift?” He wasn’t used to being so off-balance, but following at Alistair’s heels—it seemed right.

He reached out for Zevran’s hand, and this time Zevran took it. “Yeah. It’s—well, you see, right after Ostagar, before we met, I saw this rose in a Chantry garden…”

~

As Melohra Surana stood triumphant over the Archdemon, Zevran dropped his bow and turned his gaze a little to the side—to Alistair, exhausted and exultant.

He’d heard, of course, about Melohra’s deal with Morrigan. About what her special situation allowed her to do, and how hopefully that meant nobody had to die.

And now Alistair cast his sword down and rushed towards him. In an instant Alistair had him aloft, twirling Zevran in his arms before pressing excited kisses all over his face.

He could hear Melohra and Morrigan saying something or another, but it didn’t matter. Not right now.

“Now, see?” He was _grinning_. “Didn’t I tell you not to die?”

“You asked me.” Alistair showed no sign of putting Zevran down, and every sign of being about to weep.

That was all right. Zevran was just as likely to, right now.

“Look at you, Warden-Commander. Taking me in your arms before all of Denerim.” Zevran tutted. He wouldn’t have the strength to keep laughing much longer, but maybe he could get Alistair somewhere… less exposed, first. “Whatever will they say?”

“That I’m a lucky man.”

Alistair took a deep breath, and Zevran’s arms wrapped tight around his neck.

“Maker,” said Alistair, “I _am_ a lucky man.”

“Alistair,” Zevran whispered, “I am about to _cry_ in your arms before all of Denerim, and _I would prefer that did not happen_.”

He slowly lowered Zevran to the ground, then draped an arm over his shoulder—Alistair had taken a few good blows, Zevran saw that now. “Come on, then. Could use a good cry myself.”

They made their way through the crowd coming up to view the archdemon, unnoticed under the orders Melohra called out. Once they made their way through the fort (stepping over corpses, both darkspawn and not), the streets had been completely transformed. Tents were set up everywhere, medics with stretchers dashing this way and that.

A medic rushed over to the pair of them, hailed them as heroes, and immediately started an examination. Zevran tamely submitted, a few odd wounds inspected, declared Blight-free, and tended.

Alistair, in his own way, was seducing the medic. He was charming and polite, giving her information to make her job easier—and when she was finished bandaging his ribs, he said, “Excuse me.”

“Yes, Warden-Commander?”

Alistair flinched, as he did, because he was only Warden-Commander of one person and didn’t consider that to mean much at all. “I’m sure you can imagine how… dazed Messere Arainai and I are. If any of your quarantine tents are still empty, I’d be much obliged if you’d let us take a moment’s rest. I… don’t even know where we’re meant to go after, yet.”

“Of course, Warden-Commander.”

A few of the young pallbearers were called over, and led them to a tent at the far end of the array.

“There,” Alistair said, taking one of the provided blankets and putting it over Zevran’s shoulders. “Ferelden knows how to recover after a battle. No one here to watch you.”

He sat down slowly. “Impressive.”

Alistair shrugged as he sat down. “Think that’s about all I’ve got in me for… rest of the year. Maker.” He touched his bandaged side and flinched. “But I’m alive. Melohra’s alive. And I’ve got you. Thank the Maker.”

“You are alive,” Zevran echoed. “Thank the Maker.”

Alistair tilted his head, looking at Zevran as tears filled his eyes. “I love you, Zev.”

His eyes stung. Zevran sniffled and rubbed at his face with his sleeve. “Do you think if you do not say it every five minutes, I will forget?”

“Yeah,” Alistair choked out. “I figure it’s not the easiest thing for you to get your head around. You loved Taliesin, didn’t you?”

Suddenly Alistair’s arms were around him. Zevran couldn’t remember what to do about that, what to think, what to feel. Alistair stroked his back and murmured apologies. Alistair put his hand on Zevran’s cheek and wiped away tears. Was he crying?

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned Taliesin.”

Taliesin. He’d fucked Taliesin. He’d killed Taliesin. That was normal, wasn’t it?

“Zev. Zev. Look at me.”

He looked at Alistair, who was crying.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” That was the right answer. The answer people wanted.

“I’m sorry, Zev.” It made sense when Alistair kissed him, but Zevran had barely begun responding before suddenly the blanket was tightly wrapped around him and Alistair held him. Only held him.

Alistair stroked Zevran’s hair and babbled comfort, and Zevran kept thinking about Taliesin and Rinna. They wouldn’t have done this. Rinna had loved him. Alistair loved him.

But Rinna wouldn’t have done this.

He was vaguely aware of Alistair stepping away, starting to talk to someone else. Zevran was too occupied trying to take the scattered puzzle pieces of the world and turn them back into something.

Taliesin. Rinna. Alistair. Himself. Crows and Grey Wardens. Nothing coalesced into a _thought_.

“Come on.” Alistair tugged at Zevran’s arm and dragged him to his feet. “We’re going to go see Shianni. Do you think she’ll have tea? I hope she has tea.”

Shianni had tea.

She pressed hot, cracked cups into Zevran’s hands and thanked them both for saving the alienage. Alistair said something cheerful, and Zevran stared down at the cup.

His gloves. His _Dalish_ gloves. Not his mother’s, but the first gift ever given him. They meant what they had always meant—there was good in the world, even for him. That he had a home. That someone loved him.

Someone _loved_ him.

He raised his eyes, looking over to Alistair.

Alistair, who was frantically blowing on the tea. He’d burnt his tongue, hadn’t he?

Zevran laughed.

“Feeling better?” Alistair asked, eyes darting up.

Zevran smiled, putting his tea down. “My apologies. It has been a stressful day.”

“You can say that again.” Alistair sipped and grimaced. “Too hot.”

Zevran bent down and pulled Alistair’s enchantment-preserved rose from his boot.

“You—” Alistair blushed red as the rose. “Into battle against the Archdemon?”

“I didn’t know if I would get another chance.” He twirled it in his fingers, marveling at how well the dwarven lad had preserved it. It looked none the worse for wear. “But it occurs to me, now, that I have a favor from you, yet you have none from me.”

“Zevran, I don’t—”

Zevran shushed him by tucking the rose behind one ear. The sight made Alistair devolve into babbling, before trying to go back to his tea.

Still, it seemed, too hot. Alistair's nose wrinkled in disappointment.

“I think I have—ah, yes.” He had specially requested extra pockets when they’d commissioned that armor from Wade. Zevran liked to carry trinkets. “This is a trophy from my first kill for the Crows. A Rivaini merchant prince. He was wearing it when I killed him—in fact, he was wearing little else.”

He put the earring down on the table, letting the gold and jewels catch the light.

“How long have you been carrying this?” Alistair asked.

“Since that day.”

He knew, of course, that Alistair wanted an answer in years. But for the moment, he was content to let that go. Thank Andraste.

“I thought it would suit you for a favor,” Zevran said, pushing it toward Alistair. “A repayment for your rose. Not, perhaps, so meaningful, but… It is what I have to offer you.”

“Then I’ll get my ears pierced,” Alistair said, taking the earring.

Zevran cast his eyes down, and went to take a sip of tea.

He looked back up at Alistair, who was holding the earring up to examine it.

“Too hot,” he said, putting the cup of tea down.

“I know.” He pouted. “Maybe we should do something while we wait.”

“Oh?” He fluttered his eyelashes.

Alistair turned and leaned forward, taking Zevran’s hands. “May I kiss you?”

Oh. _Oh._ “Let me soothe your burnt tongue with kisses,” he said, leaning forward. Alistair made a flustered noise, and let Zevran give him the softest, tenderest kiss he could think of.

Alistair moaned and started moving forward, trying to get himself into Zevran’s lap, and suddenly there was a loud noise.

The teacups. Shattered, on the floor.

Alistair was never more adorable than when he was distraught over little things. “Shianniiiiii,” he called.

Zevran smiled, slipped himself into Alistair’s lap, and kissed him again.


End file.
